


Of Gods and Men

by MabtheWinterQueen



Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Canon Genderfluid Character, Canon Trans Character, College, Friendship, Genderfluid Character, High School, LGBT, Leo’s Foster Dad’s A+ Parenting, Multi, TW: Drug Abuse, TW: parental neglect, TW: suicidal thoughts, The Gods' A+ Parenting, Trans Character, close platonic relationships, tw: alcoholism, tw: physical abuse, tw: transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MabtheWinterQueen/pseuds/MabtheWinterQueen
Summary: Mortal perspectives on our beloved demigods, from the Seven to the Hunters of Artemis.(Stories are not always in order.)





	1. Christian Martinez on Nico di Angelo

**Author's Note:**

> Look at the tags for trigger warnings. Those apply to the whole fic, though some chapters will include them and some won’t. You might recognize this from Fanfiction.net - I’ve just moved it here. 
> 
> This is supposed to be fun and show the lives of the half-bloods outside of camp and the effect they have on others.
> 
> Enjoy!

Christian Martinez’s roommate was a serial killer.

 

Or a zombie, he supposed.

 

 _Or_ a forensic pathology student, as his girlfriend Aimee liked to point out.

 

He had bones under his mattress (“Animal bones. They probably aren’t even real.”), he wore only black (“Beware the emo! Boo!”), he was antisocial (“That’s introvert-ist.”), and he was always reading about death (What part of forensic pathology do you not understand?”). That, coupled with the fact that he never smiled, freaked Christian out. (“Maybe he just doesn’t like you.” “Shut up.”)

 

The roommate’s name was Nico di Angelo. He was, as Aimee pointed out, a forensic pathology major. He was hardly ever in their room, and when he was, he was next to silent, just this ghostlike presence that scared the ever-loving bejeezus out of Christian. He was Italian, judging from his last name and light accent, though you’d never know it from looking at him. He was thin, and death-pale, with dark shadows that chased across his face. His hair and eyes were dark. All of this together made him look like a short, Italian, emo ghost with a caffeine addiction. (Did Christian mention he never slept? Because he didn’t and it was _creepy_.)

 

Aimee said he was just malnourished (most likely from the stress of classes) and emo, but Christian never listened to her (which often boded quite poorly for him). 

 

He tried to believe her, he truly did, but it was hard to keep faith when his Google search of his roommate’s “symptoms” offered him the latest YA paranormal romance novels and the occasional horror story.

 

Aimee called him paranoid.

 

Christian bought a shotgun (just in case).

 

**xXx**

Nico di Angelo’s roommate was a hysterical mortal conspiracy theorist.

 

Or a very, very paranoid demigod, he supposed.

 

Said roommate, one Christian Martinez from Ainsworth, Iowa, was a complete and total gun freak. He owned a lot of weapons, most of which were bought after he met Nico. He obviously knew something was up about his Italian roommate, though what he thought Nico was, Nico had no clue. It was very possible, however, that he thought the son of Hades was a serial killer.

 

(Monsters don’t count, do they?)

 

It was pretty funny to watch him argue with his girlfriend, Alice or something (he made a mental note to learn her name later - she was sticking up for him) over whether or not he was plotting to murder the young Hispanic man.

 

Christian was not burly. He wasn’t even close to being muscular. He was lithe, though, like a swimmer. (Or a demigod, Nico’s brain gave its two cents.) His skin was tan (not as obnoxiously as Will’s, of course, but still pretty tan) and he still had a splash of acne on his nose. He had dark, curly hair that he dyed red at the ends and blue eyes (though not, obviously, as blue as Will’s. Just an observation). He wore nerdy T-shirts and hated Nico’s side of the room (though he did love to search it, said Italian noted as he planted small animal bones under his mattress, unable to keep from laughing a little).

 

His girlfriend (Allie? Amy?) had long hair she liked to dye a different color every day and eyes the color of coffee beans. She was very tan and fit and, Nico supposed, attractive. For a girl. (Not as attractive as Will, though, Nico’s brain supplied helpfully, and he shook his head amusedly. The distance from his boyfriend really was getting to him.) She transfered back from a semester abroad in France. He figured that if he thought she was pretty, then she must be gorgeous, because half of his O-Chem class drooled in her direction. All of this, along with her kind, secular personality, made him wonder what exactly she saw in his roomie. (Then again, Nico and Will weren’t exactly identical either.)

 

He was just too paranoid, Christian. He jumped whenever Nico was near, stumbling over his words and shooting out of the room like a very red, very sweaty missile. It was typical behavior for Nico when he liked someone, but somehow, he doubted Christian had a crush on the Italian son of Hades.

 

It really wasn’t like Nico to prank someone, but the look on Martinez’s face when he got his results on Google made him crack up as he paid Leo five gold drachmas, the thought bringing a smirk to his lips whenever it was brought up again.

 


	2. Mya Everett on Jason Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's worth noting that the first 11 chapters are all typed up and ready to go, so this update schedule isn't going to keep.
> 
> I researched actual symptoms of PTSD for this so I could display it as accurately as possible, but there's always the possibility that I messed something up, so don't hesitate to say so!

Jason Grace was an enigma, though most might not realize it. He was the tall, blonde boy with blue eyes and gold glasses that didn’t at all detract from his natural attractiveness. He was a pretty nice boy, always going out of his way to be kind – telling off the bullies, helping Mrs. DeMartini with her bags – and the best manners. He was the Golden Boy, which is why no one ever payed attention when his excuses were flimsy. (“I… can’t, ma’am, I have a… family… dinner.”) It was brushed off when he danced around seeing bloody films, and he was usually “mysteriously” sick when the class talked about war, and when he wasn’t, his jaw would clench and his eyes would unfocus themselves; he’d mutter and be completely out of it, sometimes shaking. He always needs to have his back to the wall and looks tense when someone gets into a fight, be it verbal or physical.

 

            Mya Everett wasn’t an expert or anything, but her favorite uncle was in Iraq. She knew PTSD when she saw it. War and blood and fighting were triggers. It caused flashbacks in class. He had hyperarousal as well. Both symptoms of PTSD, and both having gone on for longer than three months.

 

            And this didn’t explain the flimsy excuses and odd moments where an All-American poster boy muttered in Latin. (Mya had a 5.0 GPA. Then again, it’s always the smart, quiet ones who go unnoticed that notice the most.) Or the little gold coin he held in his hand and fiddled with. It was a perfect replica of an ancient Roman denarius, though where he got it was beyond Mya.

 

            He skipped class sometimes, always ready with an “It was a family emergency – my [insert random relative here] had…” or “I had a doctor’s appointment, didn’t Mr./Mrs./Ms. {insert teacher here] tell you…” It was well thought out, she had to give him that, but his excuses didn’t add up. (So maybe she’d done a little hacking. Just a little.)

 

            Jason Grace hadn’t so much as set foot in a New York hospital since ever. The second (and illegitimate) child of 80s star Beryl Grace, he was reported missing by his older sister, a girl named Thalia, who herself went missing just a month later. He was born in San Francisco. He went missing in Sonoma. He was two years old.

 

            His mother is dead. His father is out of the picture. So who is he staying with and where has he been all these years?

 

            Better yet – why does this sixteen-year-old boy have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorders with triggers and reaction like an Iraqi soldier?

 

            Mya Everett wants to know. What Mya Everett wants to know, she usually does.

 

            But she never does.

 

            Jason Grace is an enigma wrapped in impossibility and shrouded in mystery, and, boy, was he good at hiding it.


	3. Carter Daley on Leo Valdez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took inspiration from the fact that Leo's had a lot of crappy foster homes to bring you this piece.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: ALCOHOLISM, PARENTAL NEGLECT/ABUSE, HINTED PAST PHYSICAL ABUSE/BULLYING
> 
> If any of these things are triggering to you, please don't read this chapter.

Leo’s third foster home isn’t exactly what one would call “fit for children”. It’s in the poorest part of Chicago, where it’s 90% guaranteed that you’re involved in a gang, homeless, or a druggie. Lucky him, though – his foster father is neither; merely a raging drunk who lashes out at the drop of a hat. He makes Leo think of Tia Callida with fondness.

 

Peter Daley is fat, ugly, and mean. He has two other children, and heaven forbid he treat even _them_ well. The older one, Carter, quite obviously takes after his mother; he’s rod-thin (though it’s likely more from malnutrition than actual bone structure), with curly red hair, hazel eyes, and enough freckles to make a Dalmatian green with envy. Ellie wasn’t as lucky in the looks department. The little girl has thin, stringy, mouse-brown hair and wide brown eyes, with a squashed nose reminiscent of a pug’s and a bad rash on her back that refuses to go away. ( _She might’ve been the cutest little girl in the world if not for her prolonged mistreatment at the beer-stained hands of Short, Dark, and Ugly._ )

 

Mr. Daley barely notices Leo’s there at all but for something to spit at or beat on. ( _Smile, joke, twiddle your thumbs, they’ll go away eventually, they all do._ )

 

At least, that’s what Leo tells himself.

 

 

**xXx**

Carter Daley, age sixteen, is afraid of almost everything in the world. If it exists, you can bet he’s wary of it.

 

Not for himself, of course. That’s about the only thing he’s not afraid for – his own well-being.

 

The boy was twelve when his mother died, leaving them Ellie as her going-away gift to them. ( _I miss you, I want you, not her, I need you, we need you, please don’t go._ ) He was thirteen when he started taking punches for his baby sister. He has this innate, instinctual need to protect her, cherish her, keep her safe. ( _I’m so sorry, Mom. I’ll take care of her. For you._ )

 

Leo, however…

 

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, the wisecracking Hispanic kid of around eleven years has grown on him. He’s always quick with a situation-diffusing joke, making Ellie smile. ( _What more could a brother ask for?_ )

 

But Carter is not an idiot. He sees through the young boy’s charade. Inside, Leo Valdez is alone. He’s carrying the weight and guilt of something, the details of which Carter doesn’t ask. He himself still mourns for his mother.

 

Leo is creative, imaginative, even going so far as to say surreal sometimes. He’s so intelligent, quick-witted, and funny, but there’s more to him than that. The ADHD child has a gift for finding and putting hidden beauty on display, going so far as to dig it out of the trash. He sees Carter and Ellie as real people, not expendable garbage, like their father. He managed to turn a scrap of metal into a toy dragon for Ellie. He sees into the older boy, finding the truth without it having to have been told. ( _He’s surprising good at reading people for such a young boy_.)

 

He stays with his father, not because he really wants to, but because the foster system would split them up, and that’s something he won’t allow. Ellie is his world, his sun, his reason for living. He is the only person who can truly love her the way she deserves, who can guide her. As soon, as he’s old enough, he and Ellie are out of there.

 

And now, Leo. The small, hyperactive preteen has somehow managed to worm his way into the sixteen-year-old’s heart ( _where did those walls go?_ ), where he refuses to budge. He feels that same desire to protect flare up for this street kid, this Mexican orphan with no blood relation to him at all. ( _Don’t touch! Mine! Redredredredredredred blinding red rage_.)

 

Leo Valdez is interesting, to say the very least. He’s a charismatic, energetic genius who’s been thrust into a world of unbearable pain, where his only escape is the happy, smiling, smirking, joking masquerade of “I’m fine.”

 

He’s also Carter Daley’s little brother now, whether he likes it or not, and the moment he turns eighteen, he’s moving in with the older boy, because Leo Valdez is family, and family means no one gets left behind.


	4. Parker Xiang on Annabeth Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't perhaps my best work, but I liked the concept, so I'm leaving it in. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY (MENTIONED DISORDERS)
> 
> If either of those things are triggering to you, please don't read this chapter.

Annabeth Chase is amazing. She’s beautiful and kind and smart and so, so lucky. Her grey eyes shine like hematite when she talks about architecture. She disproves all blonde jokes. Her smile is so blinding that the sun took one look at her and resigned. She’s amazing and perfect and –

           

Yeah, maybe Kim had a point about that crush comment.

 

Her only fault is that she’s taken. With someone. Has a boyfriend. Is – will you stop with the euphemisms, brain?

 

And that she’s so smart, sometimes. Parker gets straight D’s, not for lack of trying, but because social anxiety and depression coupled together make it near I’m damn near possible to give oral reports and much less concentrate in class. (Especially when Annabeth is in that class.)

 

Parker’s biggest fault is not being able to talk to her. Hell, Annabeth tutors Parker for trigonometry, literature, and world history. But no matter what, social anxiety (ohmygodohmygod – breathe, breathe) and depression (she’ll never like me anyway. I’m worthless. I can’t even breathe right) work against any effort to put together intelligent words around said girl.

 

But that doesn’t make Annabeth any less amazing.

 

**xXx**

 

_Subject name: Parker Xiang_

_Age: 14_

_Gender: female_

_Sexuality: not heterosexual, not entirely asexual/aromantic, not demisexual/-romantic_

_Hair: long, dark brown_

_Eyes: slanted, dark brown_

_Height: 5’4”_

_Weight: unknown_

_Species: unknown_

_Reason for Concern: pays special attention to Annabeth Chase (demigod, daughter of Athena, heterosexual, long blonde hair, grey almond eyes, 5’8”, 140lb). Examples: Subject watches Chase when she is in the room. When in tutoring sessions with Chase, the Subject’s eyes watch her every move and she does not pay attention to her lessons._

_Hypothesis: Parker Xiang has a crush on Annabeth Chase._

_Evidence: heightened pulse when she is in the room (jugular is obvious), eyes dilate (though difficult to tell due to dark color), cheeks flush when Chase speaks to her, cannot get out words and merely chokes and nods or shakes head._

_Comparisons Used: Nico di Angelo (during his “crush on Perseus Jackson” days), Annabeth Chase (during her “crush on Perseus Jackson” days)._

_Conclusion: Parker Xiang has a crush on Annabeth Chase._

_Personal Feelings: I feel bad for her. I understand what it’s like to have (or rather, think you have, in my case) an unrequited crush on someone. I feel bad, but there’s really not anything I can do about it. It reminds me of Nico’s crush on Percy. It would never work. I’m sorry for her. But I love someone else (namely, Percy)._


	5. Chris Brown on Percy Jackson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Percy is a lovable dork and needs a friend he can talk about Smelly Gabe with. I liked the idea of Percy being very popular because he's so nice and sticks up for the underdog. So we finally get a chapter for him.

Chris Brown is your stereotypical book jock, the Gary Stu love interest that the Mary Sue protagonist falls in love with. He’s attractive. He’s popular. He’s funny. He’s an all-around good guy. He has a perfect relationship with his perfect girlfriend and he’s got every goddamn girl drooling over his perfectness.

 

Except his life isn’t really perfect at all.

 

He’s attractive because he hides the bruises his drug-addict mother inflicts with gratuitous make-up skills. He’s popular from years of hiding his true feelings, of pretending and saying, “I’m fine.” He’s funny because he’s scared that if people have to use for him, they’ll leave him, like his dad did. He’s a good guy because he knows that not everyone else is. His relationship is dying; he suspects that Samantha is cheating on him with Marcus Koffman, one of the linebackers, and she accuses him of being inattentive, needy, and rude. Girls drool over his outward appearance without realizing that he might be broken on the inside.

 

That is, until he joined Goode High School’s swim team.

 

Chris always loved swimming; it’s been his constant escape since he was a kid. The feeling of the water surrounding him, peaceful and smelling strongly of chlorine, always manages to calm him.

 

But that’s not the only thing he likes about swim; he found a friend there that he never thought he would.

 

Percy Jackson is one of the most popular kids in school. He’s an outstanding guy, always standing up for the little guys, goofy and fun, attractive and loveable. He’s like Superman; an outstanding superhero. His home life is even perfect; he has a blonde bombshell for a girlfriend named Annabeth Chase. She goes to Goode as well and is looking good for valedictorian. His stepdad is Mr. Blofis, who treats him like a son. He’s a huge mama’s boy, always singing her praises with an adoring look in his eyes. He’s a modern Adonis.

 

Chris is kind of jealous of him.

 

Percy makes no effort, but people are drawn to him. He’s the best guy on the swim team; even though it almost seems like he’s making an effort not to do as well as he could, he still dwarfs the other guys’ attempts. He’s a little dumb at times, which is why he shocks the other teen with his insightfulness.

 

Percy Jackson _sees_ Chris Brown. He looks past the happy façade. He straight up told him one day that if he ever needs to talk about his “home life”, then the green-eyed boy is willing to listen. It’s surprising and more than a little…

 

Invigorating.

 

Chris has never told anyone about his mom or his dad. He’s always bottled up his feelings, his anger, his pain, his _shame_. And Percy offered him a chance to let it all out.

 

At first, he’s confused. Why would Percy Jackson see him? Why would he see past the elaborate mask he’s created?

 

But then he looks at Percy Jackson, and he _sees_.

 

Percy Jackson has subtle scars, ones that could only come from broken bottles (no doubt of alcohol), little emotional slips, where he’ll start to look scared or horrified, and then he’ll snap out of him. He’s jittery, too jittery, even for an ADHD kid. He’s too tense, only relaxing in the water.

 

Percy Jackson was abused, too. By whom, it’s not Chris’s place to ask. But it does beg the question of where his father is…

 

Percy Jackson is attractive, popular, funny, and perfect.

 

He is also kind, insightful, bruised, and slightly bent.

 

Percy Jackson sees Christopher Michael Brown because knows his story.

 

And Chris Brown wants to find whoever could hate his friend so much as to abuse him and beat him to a bloody pulp, then revive him to do it again, again, again forever.

 

Because Percy Jackson inexplicably draws people to him.

 

And sometimes it’s a good thing.


	6. Catherine Johnson on the Hunters of Artemis

Catherine Johnson just wants to go home.

 

It’s 4 am, she hasn’t had coffee, and she’s been working the cash register at the local 7-Eleven since 2 am this morning. Quite frankly, she wants to curl up under the sheets in her small flat and go to sleep.

 

She dreams of getting a better job, one she loves, like writing. ( _Now if only there was a publisher willing to buy terrible Malec fanfiction_ , the self-deprecating part of her snarks. **_We’re not that bad_** , her (meager) self-confidence weakly defends.) For now, though, this will have to do. ( _Glamorous, isn’t it?_ **_It pays the bills!_** )

 

For the fourth week in a row, she has the 2 am shift. It’s getting kind of ludicrous. The only people who’ve come in for the duration of the last two hours are a gaggle of teenagers with hair dyed outrageous colors, piercings everywhere, and band tees. They wiped out the junk food and energy drinks. (Catherine had wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously because **_thank you for giving me something to do so that I don’t fall asleep_ ** but also, _I don’t want to restock the aisles of a tiny convenience store/gas station at 2:30 in the morning!_ ) And there was a lone woman around twenty minutes ago, and it was sad, but Catherine had paid a pathetic amount of attention to her. She had (likely dyed) platinum blonde hair and was around her mid-thirties. The cashier idly inferred that she was probably going someplace for the two- and four-year-olds in her minivan. ( _That would drive_ me _to buy two black-as-night coffees with nothing added in._ )

 

She is on the verge of getting a cup of coffee (because who’s driving around at 4 in the morning?) when three girls enter the store. Catherine groans internally (and possibly externally; it’s getting hard to tell).

 

Her sleep-deprived brain only registers how odd they are after she’s given the half-hearted, “How may I help you?” that is expected of her. One of them – of Asian descent, her eyes show – gives a curt nod of acknowledgement and lurks – for it could only be described as lurking – toward the drinks. The tallest girl, clearly the leader, stares at her with piercing, ice-blue eyes and then turns toward the coffee maker. The oddest thing, weirder than the silver jacket – they’re all wearing them, like girl-scout sashes – that’s been coupled with a Green Day shirt and the choppy black hair that’s obviously home-cut, is the delicate silver tiara balanced precariously on the top of her head. Catherine doesn’t ask.

 

The third girl approaches her, and, much to her shock, seems to be wearing a quiver and bow on her back. She has green eyes (why can Catherine tell that? She can never tell eye color) and ginger hair spiked up into a soft hawk. She asks the weary cashier where to find the “lavatory”, and it takes the woman a moment to realize she wants to know where the bathroom is. (Later, when she’s more awake, she will note how the ginger girl spoke with a vague European accent, but will eventually forget it. Mortals always do.) As for now, she points the girl in the direction of the unsanitary restrooms and watches Ginger’s companions, whom she’s dubbed Princess and Shadow. Princess has gotten around fifteen coffees ( _Weird…_ ) and Shadow has come back to the cash register with her arms full of marshmallows, chocolate, and other assorted sweets. Catherine is a little weirded out, because (a) these girls aren’t old enough to drive, (b) they have no car, bike, or other mode of transportation sans feet, and (c) they’re getting enough food and coffee to feed a small army. But it’s not like she’s getting paid to ask questions.

 

She checks the girls out. Only Princess seems to know what “$35.29” means; Shadow and Ginger look at each other like, “???”, leaving the tallest girl to pay. All of them give nods of respect to the older woman (which kind of freaks her out) and Princess gives her a five and tells her to “get a coffee; you look like Ha-hell.” The slip-up makes the cashier frown, but she chocks it up to being tired. She waves to the girls and watches them walk into the woods.

 

 

**xXx**

 

 

Later on in life, Catherine Johnson will be a household name for having written a series of five books on a group of travelling young women with silver jackets, sparkling tiaras, and piercing eyes who turn their backs on men. She will wonder where the small details, like the girls’ names – Thalia, Phoebe, and Lin – come from, but shrug it off.

 

When she is thirty-two, Catherine Johnson will disappear completely. Many will speculate and create ludicrous conspiracy theories about her, but few will know just how close they are to the correct answer. It, of course, lies only a foot away, in their bookshelves.

 

All of the answers lie in books, after all, if one only knows where to look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I'm aware I usually do this at the beginning.)
> 
> Yes, Catherine joined the Hunters. While she is older than average, Artemis is patron to all women, not just the youth. She would be welcomed with open arms, I feel, as she is a self-sufficient woman who did well for herself without the aid of a man.


	7. Daisy Clarke on William Solace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a two-part chapter that I merged into one.

Daisy Clarke is four years old. Will Clarke is five years old. They are playing in her front lawn because his mommy and daddy are arguing again and Will wants to pretend everything is okay for his baby cousin. (“I’m not a baby!” “Are, too!” “Are not!”) He laughs and trips her to win the race and she cries through her blonde hair. Her big doe eyes are soft and brown and wet with tears so he hugs her and pretends that he doesn’t want to cry, too.

 

Big boys don’t cry.

 

**xXx**

 

Daisy Clarke is starting her first day of first grade. Will Clarke is starting his first day of second grade. Both are starting their first day in separate schools.

 

Daisy is freaked out. She wants her Will, his comfort and support. He would tell her not to worry, not to cry. _It’s going to be okay_ , she can almost hear him say. _I’m right here, Flower_.

 

Will is lonely. Well, let him rephrase that. He’s surrounded by people; it’s kind of hard to be lonely when that implies alone. He feels the familiar pressure on his ribs, the squeezing in his chest cavity, the feeling that he can’t breathe because the alveoli won’t let him, won’t release their tight hold, his bronchi won’t let air in. (Will wants to be a doctor, so he has to know what these things are called. Daisy helps, sometimes. No, don’t think about Daisy or you’ll start crying again.)

 

Midway through lunch, Daisy can’t help it. She never bothered to try to make friends because she’s always had Will, so now she’s all alone. She thinks of him, how he would always pretend that his dinosaur chicken nuggets were going to eat her until she was squealing and shrieking and she does start shrieking, silent shrieking, better known to many as crying. She cries and calls his name until they call her mommy to take her home and then she cries because she forgot to bring home the picture she made for Will.

 

Around 12:30, Will starts. He has a feeling that something’s wrong. (That’s called intuition.) (Don’t ask him to pronounce it.) He pleads with the teacher until she sends him to the principal’s office for disrupting class. He pleads with the principal, Mr. Mayer, to let him check on his little cousin, to at least let him talk to his mommy, until Mr. Mayer concedes and calls Naomi Solace, who tells him that she’s sorry for Will’s behavior and that he’d better behave or his daddy will be really angry with him and give him a “talking to”, which means he’s going to scream and then Mommy will scream at Daddy for screaming at Will and it’ll become another “grown-up chat”. Will promises to behave and goes back to class and worries all day.

 

When he gets home, Daisy is waiting for him and he hugs her and they both pretend they’re not crying.

 

**xXx**

 

Daisy Clarke is six years old. Will Clarke is turning eight today. It’s hot, the middle of summer, and they’re at the pool. Aunt Naomi, Will’s mommy, isn’t talking to Uncle Dave, Will’s daddy. She and he are at opposite ends of the pool. Daisy and Will are racing. She pushes on his arm and bursts into first, but she bumps her head against the side of the pool and it hurts, so she stops and forgets to swim. Will has to pull her up and holds her when she cries. She thinks she sees him cry, too, but that must be the concussion.

 

Big boys don’t cry.

 

**xXx**

 

Daisy Clarke is starting her first day of sixth grade. Will Solace is starting his first day of seventh grade. Both agree to meet up as much as they can – after school, during 3rd hour Accelerated Language Arts (Daisy got moved up to his accelerated class because she has an extensive vocabulary and loves reading, so she’s good at it), and at his locker between 5th and 6th hour.

 

In her homeroom class, the teacher, Mrs. D, is an electric (she means that literally; the woman’s hair is neon orange and looks like the result of her putting her hand in a working socket) woman in her mid-thirties who speaks energetically. ( _Now if only the class weren’t full of half-asleep kids too worried about surviving middle school to care._ ) She looks at Missy, her only friend from elementary school, to find her conversing with Brynlee, a pretty, popular girl with long brown hair, doe eyes, and clear skin, and wishes more than ever that she was in the same grade as Will. Or, at least, that she doesn’t have the beginnings of acne dotting her chin and limp blonde hair that never does anything but hang there sadly.

 

Daisy really wishes Alexis, an openly transgender m-to-f* girl who dyes her hair purple, wears black with a red jacket 90% of the time (even in the summer), and shares Daisy’s love of Undertale, was in this class.

 

Similarly, Will is wishing he had made more friends. He probably could, given that he has that bright personality that everyone loves, and he has few enemies, but he’s mostly stuck with Daisy all these years. Now he wishes it was still cool to have relatives in the same school as you, even if they _are_ younger. His homeroom teacher, Mr. Greenwood, is a handicapped man with prosthetic legs. He’s short as well, only reaching up to the tallest boy (Will’s) shoulder. (Will really wishes he hadn’t grown like a weed during elementary school. He looks like a sophomore, and it’s only his second year of junior high.) Will doesn’t really pay much attention to Mr. Greenwood, no matter that the Ag teacher’s eyes are peculiarly focused on him. He really, really misses his little cousin right now.

 

He really wishes that Jake, an openly gay boy with a gift for drawing, singing, and binge-watching all of one anime’s shows with Will, was in this class.

 

**xXx**

 

Daisy Clarke is twelve. Will Clarke is thirteen. He’s going away to summer camp for the rest of vacation. Daisy doesn’t want him to go. Aunt Naomi, who divorced Uncle Dave three years ago, has made Will’s last name Solace now, like her maiden name. So there is no Will Clarke anymore, not really. Just Will Solace. And Daisy feels her heart break a little on the platform, waiting for the train to New York. Isn’t Texas, isn’t Daisy, enough for him? She hugs him tightly, hot tears spilling from her closed eyelids. Will wipes his own eyes on the train.

 

Be strong.

 

Big boys don’t cry.

 

**xXx**

 

Daisy Clarke is currently between seventh and eighth grades. Will Solace is currently between eighth and ninth grades. Daisy is in Texas, at the beach with her best friend, Alexis, though she’s just drawing instead of going out in the water with said friend, Jake (Will’s old best friend), Ella, a short, bony brunette whose father was Daisy’s Social Studies teacher last year (she didn’t really like him, but Ella’s okay), Anastasija, a Serbian girl with pretty, dark skin and oddly noticeable green eyes who’s a little shy, but a good friend, and Ally, a slightly overweight girl who dyes her hair blonde with pink streaks and takes no **** from anybody. (Daisy secretly wishes she could be that confident, but she isn’t, so she sticks to drawing her and Will as anime characters as a present for him at the end of the summer; she’s gotten surprisingly good.)

 

She carries on the conversation her friends are having whilst in the water by just having everyone shout everything. (Dumb, she knows, but Daisy has a debilitating fear of drowning.) She frowns at the picture. Something isn’t quite right about this. She can’t quite tell. With a start, Daisy realizes that her cousin’s face is becoming fuzzy in her own head. She almost cries right there, but she doesn’t. Her friends are good people, but they wouldn’t understand.

 

So she saves the tears for when Will comes home next week.

 

Will is in New York with his friends, Jake Mason, son of Hephaestus, and Lou Ellen Blackstone, daughter of Hecate. They’re currently playing basketball. Well, more like Will and Jake are playing basketball while Lou Ellen makes snarky remarks from the sidelines. Will feels like socking her sometimes.

 

He’s shocked by how different his two Jakes are. His first friend named Jake was a geeky beanpole. This Jake is an athletic bull. Their only similarity, sans names, is that they’re gay. Will recalls that Jake #1 is now friends with Daisy and her motley crew of misfits; the trans girl with purple hair, the gay artist, the pudgy bad***, the teacher’s daughter, and the shy foreign girl. When he thinks about it, he can’t really seem to make any of it fit. Then again, he supposes, Daisy doesn’t really fit anywhere but by his side, and that’s not really an option at the moment.

 

He realizes too late that the rebounding basketball is heading straight for his face. In the pained stupor, he can’t help but think of the time Jake #1 and he were do-se-doing and Daisy came up and got hit in the face with his elbow. Will laughs out loud. He laughs until he cries because he remembers that he’s 1,764.3 (give or take) miles away from her. Lou Ellen and Jake look at him like he’s crazy.

 

He probably (read: definitely) has a concussion.

 

**xXx**

 

Daisy Clarke is fifteen. Will Solace is sixteen. He’s come to visit during the summer, which he never does, and says he has someone he wants them to meet. Daisy doesn’t care who it is; she just misses Will. When he comes back, she embraces him and sobs with happiness. Will laughs and wipes away hasty tears and introduces them to his boyfriend, Nico di Angelo, who smiles weakly and takes Will’s hand. He makes Will stop crying. That’s good enough for Daisy.

 

Big boys shouldn’t have to cry.

 

**xXx**

 

Daisy Clarke is midway through sophomore year. Will Solace is a junior. Daisy feels like she couldn’t be happier. Will has promised to visit at least twice this summer (and to bring his boyfriend with him, because Daisy needs to see him to finish Will’s birthday present – it’s a drawing of Nico and her cousin holding hands, but she can’t quite remember the nuances or the shape of Nico’s face, not to mention exactly how much shorter he is than Will). Will couldn’t be happier. His boyfriend and his baby cousin (“I’m not a baby!” “Are, too!” “Are not!” “Are, too!” “We sound like children.” “You are a child.”) take to each other like fish to water. His mom doesn’t particularly care who he dates as long as they’re good people – though Dave is of another, more stereotypically Texan opinion**.

 

There are ups and downs in every story. There are challenges and obstacles and life will not be easy. But as living creatures, we beat the odds and live until we feel like we’re alive again.

 

**xXx**

Daisy Clarke is Will Solace’s adored little cousin. She obviously loves him – she cries with joy upon his return and her introduction to his boyfriend – and the feeling is mutual. Will hadn’t cared about his mother or mortal stepfather’s approval; he wanted Daisy to love Nico as much as he did, because he wanted the two most important people in his life to get along. As it turned out, Daisy didn’t care if he was with a twenty-ton giraffe so long as he was happy. He thought he could’ve cried right there.

 

That night he did weep with relief.

 

Maybe crying isn’t such a childish thing after all.

 

Maybe big boys do cry.


	8. Vivienne Hatzidakis on Aphrodite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose Aphrodite because she seems like the type to change her sex to sleep with someone.

Vivienne Hatzidakis was four when she first saw them.

 

            Nymphs, her father called them. Imaginary friends, her mother insisted. Delusions, the psychiatrists said. Cries for attention, her peers (and their parents) sniffed.

 

            She was twelve when her mother began to become concerned. _She says she sees tree people_ , she would tell the social workers. _I blame it on her father; always encouraged it. Hallucinations. She’s had them since she was a little girl._

 

            She was sixteen when she was first sent to Streamwood Mental Hospital to get “fixed”. They wouldn’t even let her draw to alleviate the tension.

 

            Which isn’t to say that there aren’t people with real problems there. Her roommate insists on being called Norma Jean. She has platinum blonde-dyed hair that was probably once styled into a Marylin Monroe-style bob and manages to find make-up enough to add a mole near her lip. (The size and side it’s on vary every day, Viv dully notes.) Sammy is in for suicidal and homicidal thoughts. ( _Thoughts are not actions_ , she insists furiously. _This is just my mother’s way of getting rid of my trans ass._ ) (Vivienne has seen the way she jokes about killing herself. Joking is putting it lightly.)

 

            It’s awful.  You’re not allowed to talk about your problems. You do – stay longer. You’re not allowed to try to get up in the middle of the night. You do – stay longer. (They lock your door anyways.) You’re not allowed to act _sad_. You do – you get the drill.

 

            When Vivienne is twenty-two, she smiles and pretends she no longer believes. She is out in two weeks.

 

            She finishes school. She gets a job. When Vivienne is thirty, she is a successful accountant who lives in a little house by the woods.

 

            She still sees them.

 

            When Vivienne Hatzidakis is thirty-four, she begins a tentative relationship with a handsome young man by the name of Carlos. He is five-foot nine and lean, with messy dark hair, tanned skin, and a gorgeous smile. He is kind and funny and she _maybe_ loves him.

 

            When Vivienne is thirty-six, she is pregnant, and Carlos tells her the truth. “He” is the goddess (God? Goddess? Ah, screw it.) Aphrodite, from Greek mythology. Vivienne is not crazy. She cries in relief.

 

            He – she – they explain that their child will be a half-blood, a child of a god/goddess/androgynous deity. They will be hunted down by monsters by their twelfth birthday. They will be safe at Camp Half-Blood in New York.

 

            When Vivienne is forty-seven, she makes the hardest decision of her life and brings her daughter to Camp Half-Blood two years early to ensure her safety. She promises that she can visit when Chiron decides that she can handle herself.

 

            When Vivienne Hatzidakis is eighty-two, she has three beautiful grandchildren; a girl who is two, a boy who is five, and a genderfluid adolescent who’s fifteen.

 

            When Vivienne Hatzidakis is ninety-three and dying of leukemia, she cries tears of pure joy at the life she was given when she met “Carlos”. She cries because her mother was wrong. She cries because her daughter lived. She cries because she will be with her father again. She cries because her grandchildren are strong. She cries because all in all, she has had a wonderful life, and now she will have a wonderful afterlife.


	9. Ruth Williams on Frank Zhang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a mortal this chapter but eh.

Every other Saturday morning between 7:30 and 8 a.m., Ruth Williams opened her bookstore/coffee shop/bakery/computer café. Every morning at precisely 8:17 a.m., a burly young man with Asian eyes and buzzcut black hair entered, floundering around with a computer a bit before getting up and looking for his book by hand, finding it after a few minutes of searching. He would then buy himself a raspberry scone and a cup of black coffee, to which he would add so much sugar that he was not drinking coffee with sugar in it but sugar with coffee in it.

 

Then he would amble over and strike up a conversation with the elderly shopkeeper.

 

She would smile and listen to his stories of college and his girlfriend and this one thing that happened one time and his girlfriend and his mother and his girlfriend and his friends.

 

Honestly, if Ruth never heard the words “girlfriend” or “Hazel” ever again, she could die a happy old woman.

 

But there was always a certain spark, a certain light, in his eyes when he talked about her. He spoke like she was the very center of his universe – and from what Ruth could tell, she was.

 

He loved to talk about his friends, but the old woman knew he was withholding information purposefully. They met at a camp. A camp for what? Summer. They all had an absentee parent. Why? Because why not. There was always some form of disability like ADHD or dyslexia (except for “poor” Frank Zhang, who was stuck with being lactose intolerant). Is that what the camp is for? Shrug.

 

Their routine hasn’t faltered in two years.

 

But today, Frank is late. It’s 9 and he hasn’t been in yet. She’s getting worried when it nears 10, and she wishes she had his phone number at 11.

 

At 12 on the dot, Frank finally enters the store.

 

But this time, he’s not alone.

 

There’s a pretty young girl on his arm and a young man in black next to her. The girl is very short, with dark skin and curly hair. Her eyes shine with childlike excitement when she gazes at Frank, which means she can’t be anyone other than Hazel. The man with them is just slightly taller than her, but still dwarfed by the Asian man, which is a regular occurrence for most people. He has pale olive skin and dark hair and a real WWII bomber jacket with a few stitches on the arm.

 

Frank approaches the counter looking happier than Ruth thinks he’s ever seen. Hazel’s eyes seem to glow a molten gold color when Ruth looks at her, and the old woman frowns. She uses her senses and pushes past the thick Mist around the girl’s aura. She’s a daughter of Hades, then, and the dark man’s a child of Hades, too. And Frank is a son of Ares. That explains a lot.

 

She smiles and invites them into her flat for tea.

 

She brings out peppermint for herself and Frank and Earl Grey for the other two. She tells them that children of Hades often like Earl Grey, and she isn’t proven wrong.

 

Ruth tells them that she is a daughter of Hecate. No, she didn’t know that the Romans existed. No, she didn’t hear about Kronos or Gaea. No, she never went to camp. She feels bad that two of those are lies, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

 

She sends them on their way with a few magical weapons and some more Earl Grey and closes early, claiming she’s having back pain.

 

She straightens quickly, stretching the abilities she hasn’t used in centuries. Two of the seven and the carrier of the Athena Parthenos in her shop. Hasn’t this been an interesting day?

 

She looks in the bathroom mirror – the only one in the flat. Her hair is long and luxurious, flickering around her shoulders. It negates the need for a light source in the tiny room. She missed her bronze and donkey legs – she’s lived as Ruth Williams for so long that she’s nearly forgotten what being young and beautiful and herself is like. As she watches her reflection, wrinkles and laugh lines form, eyes gaining cataracts and hair becoming thin and human. Her face becomes sweet and old and her body hunches and thins. She smiles.

 

If she’s lucky, she’ll have maybe ten years before she has to look into the mirror and see herself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on what myth you look at, empousai are children and servants of Hecate. I like the idea of a monster hiding who they really are to live peacefully among mortals.


	10. Elena Rivera on Piper McLean, Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson, and Jason Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH (MINOR)

Elena Rivera just wants to go home. It’s been two hours since she arrived at Comic-Con with her friend Luke and one hour and fifty-nine minutes since she was having fun. She still doesn’t know how he convinced her to cosplay as one of those trolls (Kayla? Tanya?) from that ridiculous webcomic he likes, but she has horns glued to her dyed-black hair and her grey body paint really itches and her fake teeth feel weird and she’s awkwardly aware of her contacts and they’ve been in line _forever_. (What are they even lining up for? She doesn’t remember, but Luke’s chattering her ear off about it.)

 

In front of them is a couple of boys dressed as a blonde Clark Kent and a dark-haired Aquaman. Their girlfriends are a troll from the same comic as Elena and Luke and a blonde Wonder Woman respectively. The boys seem a little bored, but the girls are talking animatedly.

 

“Oh, my God!” Luke squeals, pointing at the troll girl in front of them like he just noticed her. “She’s Terezi!”

 

“That’s great,” Elena drones, watching a couple dressed as Leia and Goku walk past, nearly attached at the waist. She spots a really well-done group of Death Note cosplayers and a few characters from Fullmetal Alchemist and wishes she had gone as literally anything else.

 

“We should go say hi!”

 

“Whatever you – what?”

 

Luke grabs her hand and pulls her toward the other troll as the line surges forward again, bumping into Clark Kent on his path. “Terezi” immediately recognizes whoever they’re supposed to be and starts fangirling with Luke. Elena stands off to the side awkwardly and chooses to inspect the girl’s companions.

 

Wonder Woman has long blonde hair with a perfect curl that cannot be natural and a lithe swimmer’s body. She looks athletic enough to be Diana Prince, with athletic legs and muscular arms. She’s a little tense with all the people around, and Elena has to praise her for getting into character, because she totally looks like a badass warrior woman, complete with fighting posture. She’s a little taller than Elena and leans into Aquaman slightly, like she’s ready to leave as well but doesn’t want to come out and say it.

 

Aquaman is oblivious to her silent plea, conversing pleasantly with Superman and putting an arm around her shoulder. He’s a couple of inches taller than her, with unruly hair and a troublemaker’s grin. He looks just as athletic as his girlfriend, if not more, as his tight orange shirt shows off his muscular arms and athletic build. A sports player and a cheerleader, likely, in real life.

 

Clark Kent is just a little taller than Aquaman, and out of everyone there, he looks the most uncomfortable. His posture is rigid, his gold-rimmed glasses obsessively polished and his outfit pressed. A perfectionist, then. He’s nervously running his fingers over a gold coin and looking around like he expects an attack at any time. His gaze is piercing, commanding, and Elena sees a man who’s used to being obeyed. Stu-Co president, probably, or football captain. He’s certainly muscular enough for it. Geez, are any of them not perfect human specimens?

 

Luke pokes her on the arm until she pays attention. “Terezi” introduces herself as Piper. Apparently, they have friends also cosplaying as Nepeta, Equius, Karkat, Feferi, and Tavros (whoever they are), but they’re off getting food, if they haven’t been trampled underfoot. The girl is thin and pretty in an unassuming way, almost like she doesn’t want to be noticed. Her hair is choppy, like she cut it herself, and her eyes are captivating, even though she’s wearing contacts and red-tinted sunglasses. Her voice is dark and husky and really, really nice to listen to.

 

When Elena goes home and takes off the stupid costume and swears off Comic-Con (until she ends up going next year, like always), she’ll find herself lingering on those odd people. She’ll see them again next year. And next year. And next year, until Luke gets hit and killed by a drunk driver and Elena stops going. Clark Kent ends up going as a variant of Superman every single time, Aquaman’s theme is, fittingly, aquatic, Wonder Woman is the baddest of the badass women every year without fail, and Piper is always a troll. And her mind always lingers over them. They’re odd, but Comic-Con wouldn’t be the same without them.

 

Or Luke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a major Homestuck fan but my friends are. (It's just too boring at the beginning. I can't do boring.) Elena is Kanaya, Luke is Sollux, Piper is Terezi, Nepeta is Hazel, Equius is Frank, Tavros is Leo, Feferi is Reyna, and Karkat is Nico. I tried to line up personalities with trolls a little bit but I don't actually know a lot of the female trolls.


	11. Sam Evers on Alex Fierro and Magnus Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: transphobia, light suicidal thoughts, family abandonment, homelessness, there's a mention of light child abuse but nothing too graphic

When Sam was five, he cut off all of his hair and threw every clothing item with the word “girl” on it in the trash, insisting that he was a boy and should be called “Sam”. His mother smacked him and told him he would always be a girl and that schools needed to stop teaching perversions of nature.

 

            When Sam was twelve, he bought himself a binder in secret and threw all of his bras in the Dumpster at the mall. His mom eventually found out and burned the binder while he cried.

 

            When Sam was thirteen, his mother threw him out and told him never to come back unless he learned to be less selfish and consider her feelings.

 

            When Sam was sixteen, he realized he was going to be homeless forever.

 

            No one wants to hire a homeless girl-boy. None of the shelters have binders that won’t break his ribs. He congregates with a few other trans kids who were abandoned by their parents and resigns himself to his fate.

 

            Street kids go missing all the time in Boston; Elle a few months ago, Magnus almost two before that, Carl and Stevie and Jay and Alexis all before them. No one ever comes back. Sometimes Sam just lays down and wonders if he’s going to wake up.

 

            He always does and he always hates it.

 

            It’s the middle of January and he’s cold and wet and tired when a person in horrible neon green and pink leans down next to him. They look familiar – Alex or Ally or something. He can’t tell.

 

            “Hi, Sam,” they say roughly, but their smile is genuine. “Do you remember me?”

 

            Suddenly, he does. Alex, the fluid mostly-girl. She was gone a few months ago. She’s here? Wow, he really _is_ cold. He’s never hallucinated before.

 

            Alex’s expression darkens. “Hey, Magnus?” she calls to someone behind her. “I think he’s in shock. Maybe hypothermic. Get the first aid kit ready.” Now his eyes are almost closed. _Hmm, sleep…_

 

            “Hey! No sleeping,” she demands, and he huffs a little. “Magnus! Hey, stay awake. Sam? Come on, dude, just a little longer. We’ll take you somewhere nice and warm and you can sleep as long as you want.”

 

            “’S I want?” he slurs a little drunkenly. Then he frowns. “But I’m already warm.”

 

            She sighs. “Definitely hypothermic.”

 

            A blond boy kneels beside her – Magnus, his fuzzy brain produces. _Apparently, today is Missing and Dead Homeless Kid Reunion Day and no one told me._

 

            “Shit, man, are you okay?” he blurts upon grabbing Sam’s freezing hand. “You’re at least four degrees too cold and you’ve definitely got frostbite.”

 

            “Really?” Alex asks dryly. “Hadn’t noticed.”

 

            “Right.” He winces, and the last thing Sam hears before he finally goes to sleep is “Shit!”

 

**xXx**

 

When he wakes up, the first thing he knows is that he’s mildly disappointed. The second is that he’s under something warm and dense. A blanket? No, blankets. With that, his eyes shoot open.

 

            His room is painted a soft green, and the curtains at the window are a light, springtime pink. He feels truly warm for the first time since early autumn, and then his higher reasoning kicks in and wonders where the hell he is.

           

            As if on cue, there’s a knock on his room door and a blond head is poking in to check if he’s awake.

 

            Magnus smiles awkwardly and gives a little nod, his hands preoccupied with a tray with a bowl, a book, and a small box.

 

            “Hey, man,” he says, setting the tray down on the end table. “So… how you doing?”

 

            Sam frowns. “Okay, I guess. Not freezing anymore.”

 

            “Great.” Magnus’s speech is cut off and more than a little forced, and before Sam can help himself, he fills the silence.

 

            “Where have you been?”

 

            Magnus gives a little laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

            Sam scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

 

**xXx**

Eventually, Sam gets settled into Chase Place. The small box had a binder in it, and he attacked Alex with a hug when he saw him. He gets a job and goes back to school and makes friends. For once in his life, he has a home and he _belongs_.

 

            Maybe he never learns where Magnus and Alex were. Maybe he laughs when they tell him they’re demigods. Maybe he laughs when Halfborn says he’s from Viking times and Mallory says she’s actually dead. Maybe his new friends have strange inside jokes.

 

            But maybe Sam finally knows something none of them do.

 

            Maybe Sam knows that they are his family, and he loves them all.


End file.
